


Every Breath We Drew

by araliya



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 04:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15381129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araliya/pseuds/araliya
Summary: A reaction fic to Darren’s Emmy Nomination.





	Every Breath We Drew

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics from Jeff Buckley’s gorgeous version of Hallelujah (and before people come at me accusing me of blasphemy, the song doesn’t mean what you think it does)

_(i've seen this room and I've walked this floor  
you know, I used to live alone before I knew ya)_

 

The first thing Darren hears as he approaches his doorstep is hushed whispering and the pattering of paws on floorboards.

 

“… _stop it_ , Coop, I said  _stay_ -”

 

Darren grins to himself, before returning to the gate to thank the driver and bring his suitcase in. He pauses at the door, letting the giddy excitement steadily build in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, Darren turns the knob, stepping inside and being engulfed in an enormous cloud of silver and gold confetti.

 

“Daan dan da daaan! Daan dan da daaan!” Chris sings wildly (much to Darren's bemusement), giving up his efforts with the dogs and letting them bound over to hurl themselves into the glittering plastic. He throws his arms out, smiling widely. Darren strides straight into them, wrapping his arms around Chris tightly and feeling himself be lifted right out of the air with the force of his embrace.

 

After a moment, Chris lets him go, looping his arms around Darren’s neck. “Hello, my emmy nominated husband,” he says, eyes alight with exhilaration.

 

Darren brings his hands to Chris’ waist. “Hello, my award-winning, best-selling, invaluable,  _beloved_  husband.”

 

“Stop,” Chris chides softly. “This is about you. Not to mention you’re also award-winning in every single way,” he takes Darren’s bottom lip in a gentle kiss, “...and I am quite utterly  _exploding_  with pride.”

 

“I haven’t even won, Chris,” Darren reminds him, smoothing the fabric of his shirt under his palms.

 

“In my eyes, you already have.”

 

Darren pulls Chris flush against him, bringing their lips together and pressing close. He drinks in the sensation: soft, yielding lips, the slight pressure of tongue, the shudder of Chris’ chest between them as he breathes- shaky and disjointed with want, having been away from each other for several days.

 

They part, slightly breathless and headily warm. Darren leans his forehead against Chris’. They don’t say anything- they don’t need to.

 

Chris curls his fingers into the hair at the nape of Darren’s neck, running his other palm down the front of his shirt, pausing at the top button. Darren watches the trail of Chris’ pale fingers as they fiddle with the small rounds of plastic, lingering at each as they course ever lower.

 

“Chris…” Darren starts, their lips brushing infinitesimally. The rest of his sentence fails with a sudden exhale as Chris twists them around to push Darren up against the hallway wall.

 

“Uncomfortable?” Chris murmurs, fingers quick at work with his belt, sliding it loose with practised finesse.

 

“N- no,” Darren gasps, his hands scrabbling futilely for purchase. They come into contact with the side table, and the guest book clutters unceremoniously to the floor.

 

Chris smiles wickedly, before pressing his lips to the concave hollow beneath Darren’s jaw and licking downwards into the crest of his collarbone. “Good,” he whispers, the soft dip of his palm finally making contact with Darren’s fiery skin. 

 

Darren bucks involuntarily, hand coming up to grab the back of Chris’ head. He kisses him hard, using his elbow as leverage to search blindly the drawstring on Chris’ sweats. Darren tugs, relishing the yielding slide of them down Chris’ hips- exposing firm, willing flesh.

 

“Oh my god,” Chris cries all of a sudden, as Darren starts to give as well as he’s receiving. “The pets!”

 

Darren distractedly leans over Chris’ shoulder. “Nowhere in sight,” he assures him, adding a silent  _thank god_  under his breath. He moves his lips to Chris’ temple, nosing down the familiar line of his jaw to press up against the soft skin beneath his ear. Chris rakes in a shaky breath, tightening his hold around Darren’s neck like an anchor.

 

The air enclosing them wavers in a mirage of warmth, radiating from their flushed skin. Chris is a heavy constant in his palm, on his skin, all around him. Darren feels like he’s home.

 

***

 

They end up tangled on the couch, half-dressed and sated. Chris picks golden flakes of plastic out of Darren’s curls, letting them flutter through the air for Brian to eye warily.

 

“Was it a good welcome home?” Chris asks, and Darren can hear the smile in his voice.

 

“The best,” Darren replies.

 

“I’m glad.”

 

“But I do want to know why were you singing Wagner’s ‘Here comes the bride’ at me.”

 

“Oh,” Chris says, laughing softly, “I was trying to think of a good celebratory theme tune. That was the only one that came to mind.”

 

“I felt very honored,” Darren says. “Everyone needs to walk down an aisle, or a hallway, to that classic.”

 

They’re silent for a moment, listening to one of the old Jeff Buckley albums that’s drifting through the speakers. The afternoon light cast bright beams of light across the floorboards, and there’s a certain sense of dream-like surreality about it all.

 

“I am,” Darren begins quietly, “so very lucky.”

 

Chris looks down at him. His glasses sit somewhere in his mussed hair, and his t-shirt is skewed across his shoulders. To Darren, he is utterly beautiful.

 

“As am I,” Chris whispers in return.

 

_(and he broke your throne and he cut your hair  
and from your lips he drew the Hallelujah)_


End file.
